


Fourth Time's The Charm

by imjustheretohaveafantime



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, Arguments, Confessions, Crying, Deceit | Janus Sanders Needs a Hug, First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea how to tag, Idiots in Love, M/M, They're Dumb And In Love, Yelling, and god do they both get one, and have no idea how to express their feelings, kind of, post fwasa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-28
Updated: 2020-12-28
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:48:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28384314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imjustheretohaveafantime/pseuds/imjustheretohaveafantime
Summary: And oh, there it was, the icy coldness of dread washing over him. He did not really know what would happen, now. A screaming match, maybe? He hoped not, not now when his throat was so obviously hoarse from crying, not when his brain couldn’t have tried to keep up the mask of hate.He’d end up doing something absurdly stupid, like being honest to someone who so clearly didn’t want to hear the truth._Aka: Janus and Virgil have a lot of feelings. A shame no one told them how to deal with those.
Relationships: Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Deceit | Janus Sanders
Comments: 6
Kudos: 55





	Fourth Time's The Charm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Greenninjagal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenninjagal/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Fool Me Thrice](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26955226) by [Greenninjagal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greenninjagal/pseuds/Greenninjagal). 



> This is a recursive sequel to @greenninjagals 's wonderful fic Fool Me Thrice!  
> It's also my first time posting on ao3 so if things feel a little iffy that's why. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> [also, the things in brackets are Virgil’s thoughts, if that wasn't understandable].

Janus woke up at the shifting of a light.

The corridor light, to be more precise, the one that only turned itself off when everyone was supposed to be asleep. Which meant it was either very, very late, or very very early.

He took a moment to let panic consume him, the looming shadow of every task he didn’t do filling his head, before taking a deep breath. Roman had said he would take care of it, (or at the very least, he thought he had. His memories about that conversation were still way fuzzier than he’d like them to be, that with emotional fatigue and _actual_ fatigue messing things up), and even if he _hadn’t_ there was nothing he could do now.  
He had to wait until the morning, survey the damage, and try to fix his mistakes as best as he could.

Taking another breath (funny how he’d almost had to _remind_ himself to) he opened his eyes.

To Virgil.

Virgil, entering his room with a way too obvious “caught in the act” expression, and a tray in his hands carefully balancing what looked like biscuits and tea. (His favourite late night snack. Virgil’s had been dark chocolate and milk, and he wondered whether it had changed as much as everything else).

“Uhm, Hi,” He said, ever the most eloquent in his still half asleep state. “What are you doing here?”

“Patt told me to bring you something to eat.”

Janus was pretty sure Patton didn’t know of his current condition at all. And even if he had, there was a very low chance he’d decide to get him caren of at such an ungodly hour of the morning (which, glancing at his clock, revealed itself to be three o'clock), but he politely decided not to point that off.

[Patton had not, in fact, told him to do this. It just sounded like a less pitiful excuse than “I heard you were sick and I literally couldn’t sleep until I’d seen you breathing”.]

“Roman told us about what happened today.” Virgil said, voice revealing as little emotion as possible, while he brought the tray over his nightstand and retreated.

And oh, there it was, the icy coldness of dread washing over him. He did not really know what would happen, now. A screaming match, maybe? He hoped not, not now when his throat was so obviously hoarse from crying, not when his brain couldn’t have _tried_ to keep up the mask of hate.

He’d end up doing something absurdly stupid, like being honest to someone who so clearly didn’t want to hear the truth.

“I’m not… _pleased_. About you using my face to do your thing. You should contribute with your own appearance or, you know, ask.  
I still think lying this much is wrong, for both you and Thomas; we’re going to hit a wall where either no one believes us anymore, or we have so much stress from keeping up with it all that we break down, ” He sighed,  
“That being said, you probably did, _something_ right. Roman hasn’t smiled like that since, what, the christmas episode? Logan had lunch with us today, he actually _talked_ about this book he’s reading, even if he expected to be shut down at any moment; Patton has asked us to give him so space. He set _boundaries_ Jan, I don’t think I _ever_ seen him do that.  
Hell, even Remus seemed more okay than usual. Whatever you’ve been doing, it made them really happy. Keep it up.”

[There was resentment, in those words. A little bit of venom sliding over, a “why are they happy with _you_ and not _me_?” hidden behind the praise. The old nickname, going out before it could even hit his brain, did nothing to alleviate the burn.]

Janus was silent for a long time, long enough to look like he wouldn’t answer at all.

That was… way calmer than he’d expected this conversation to go.  
Less screaming was involved, and definitely less tears (on both parts).

Being accredited of what was probably Roman’s work helped, surely (why would Virgil think _he_ was the author of all of that?), but there was still a layer of doubt frizzling under his skin. The kind of hate they felt towards each other, that Virgil felt towards _him_ , the years of resentment onto their backs… They didn’t go away that easily.

[He had considered keeping up the hate and the hissing, to pretend like he still despised the Janus’ very presence, but he was just so _tired_. Regret and rage were all encompassing, and took way more out of him than he’d like to admit.]

When Virgil went away, he hadn’t had much time to think: anger and betrayal flooded his veins, his brain nothing but a mixture of tears and regret. He had fallen in a never ending cycle, blaming Virgil and then Remus and then finally himself, everyone and everything being at fault for things that didn’t have a fault at all: he needed to direct his rage at something, and where all failed it was forced to turn inwards.  
Never, from those miserable moments to the present, had he ever thought to compare just how _similar_ Virgil’s function was to his. Protection was protection, be it through fear or deception, be it born of safety or happiness; making Thomas (and by proxy, his sides) safe and content, was all they ever wanted (even if it meant sacrificing everything. Even if meant sacrificing _yourself_ ).

Virgil would have never turned his own hate onto the others, not when there was a risk of hurting them.  
(When Janus’ blaming couldn’t find a scapegoat, it turned onto himself. Where had Virgil’s hate gone, if not entirely on him?)

“What about you?” Janus said, words escaping his lips with almost no sound.

Virgil, halfway to the door, turned to him with a confused expression.

[He hadn’t expected him to reply. He didn’t think, after how much of an idiot he’d been, that Janus would ever want a conversation with him.]

“What about me?”

“You listed everyone except yourself. Are _you_ happy?”

“Of course,” came an answer, too quick and too bitter to be the truth.  
Surprising, for someone who lived with him for so long, not to come up with a more convincing lie; it was clear Virgil never really believed in it himself.

[He wanted to believe in it, _oh_ , how he wanted. He’d been trying for so long to be happy, yet he couldn’t, not with that hole in his heart heavier than any worry].

“Do you… Do you know why Roman knew I wasn’t you?” Janus said, an apparent non-sequitur that still made too much sense, voice still low (don’t raise it, don’t _scream_ , you’ll make the same mistakes again-) and looking intently at his hands.

Virgil looked up, looking surprised. Janus couldn’t blame him: with all the years he had spent admiring every inch of his skin, every thread of his favourite hoodie, every wrinkle formed with is smile, every note in his giggles of excitement, he could make a copy almost equal to the original. (Almost, always almost, could never come perfectly close to something so magnificent no matter how hard he tried).

He’d know Virgil like the palm of his hands, deeper than he’d ever known himself.

It didn’t come to his mind that it wasn’t the same for the others.

“I wouldn’t have… expected. Him to notice, that’s it. You make a good me.”

“Neither did I. Apparently I had made a mistake in thinking he’d ever seen you actually happy.”

“Ah, _That_.” Virgil sighed.

Resignation, maybe, or shame: Janus wasn’t sure, but neither of these option were pleasant. He looked intently at the other, asking him to continue with no bravery to speak.

[- those eyes, always staring, always seeing so deep into his soul in a way that _shouldn’t_ have been endearing and yet never failed to make his heart race-]

“It’s not that I was never happy. I was. They make me happy, and very much so,” he continued, thoughts going to a quiet christmas, to a hundred movie nights, to a thousand shared meals, “I love them as much as I’d like to think they love me.  
I just.. keep it covered around them too. At first it was just to, you know, scare Thomas off? Somehow? But then, _thoughts_ started happening, with reasons and stuff, and I decided to keep it like that.  
It wears down every few hours, but I like spending time alone anyway .”

“But why?” He asked in disbelief, not able to fathom covering something so beautiful, the glow in his eyes he’d spent so long getting _lost_ in-

“ _I was scared_ , okay?  
Of … you.”

Suddenly his thoughts stopped.

Virgil still wasn’t looking at him.

[He wasn’t _brave_ enough to.]

He felt as if he was about to cry, _again_. There sure was a trend to this evening wasn’t there?

[Oh god, tears. Retry, retry _quick_ -]

“Or, well, not of you _you_. The memory of you. Of the past, in general, and the past with you all.  
Being completely happy in the Light, comfortable showing emotions and like, content with the life I had chosen?  
It mean leaving you behind. It meant admitting I _abandoned_ you, abandoned everyone and everything. And admiring _that_ , meant also acknowledging the fact that I felt like _shit_ about it. ”

[Had he always rambled so much?]

“I missed my old me, and my old life, and it scared me so much.  
I missed _you_.”

Janus left out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Everything in his body flooded with relief, veins filling with the happiness of reciprocation, the burn of an old feeling coming back to life, the sheer energy of the love he felt.

He knew that this was as much as a confession as they would ever have. They had never learned to _deal_ with emotions as big as these felt, never knew how to put them into words in a way that would have made sense for anyone else.  
  
For them, something as simple as “I missed you”, said in a rush at three in the morning, when both their brains were too tired to keep up a filter, meant everything the words could mean and a billion times more.  
It meant _love_ , in it simplest of terms that really, wasn’t simple at all.

And in that faithful moment, after what felt like eons and billions of seconds, like eras ending and worlds ending, like lakes of tears being spilled and blind joy being felt, their eyes met.

Eye to eye, [still beautiful as that first day], deep dark brown drowning in his own, technically the same as Thomas’ but [so _so_ different, sparkling with yellow and green and a rainbow of colors vibrant enough to blind] and somehow so dark and static at the same time, purple voids full of swirling emotions.  
It had been long enough for him to be accustomed to this, [the sheer pain of not having,] the pain of not _feeling_ , [the pain of being so far apart you don’t know where you start and the wanting ends], the pain of not having anyone near in the moment of need, stern and strict when he forgot to take care of himself over everyone, [calm and gentle during panic attacks,] a voice and a laugh for every sad moment [a tear and compassion when he didn’t know he wanted them];  
Yet it hadn’t been long enough for him to forget the way those eyes spoke, [no words ever necessary,] an “I love you” hidden in their banter, [a “I’ll be there for you” after a sleepless night.]

A “I will miss you” in the anger.

[A “I’ll regret this” in a betrayal.]

Soon hands followed where the eyes watched, words another time rendered useless in the heat of the moment.

  
[He never knew how to actually say how he felt. Emotions were too complicated to be said so simply.]

  
He needed to show him, to let all of his love for Virgil fill his body until it spilled over in his arms.

They rushed, fervent with the need and passion of a flower torn to shred, clinging to the last few strands of stem it has left; yet they were calm to the eyes of anyone else: the rush was in their minds, in the way they caressed each other’s face, in the way they hugged as long lost souls.

Everything just seems so fast when the world has stopped moving.

Suddenly the came to a halt, lips inches away from one another. It was too fast, too fast to seem real and probably too fast to be right: they should have stopped, apologized, thought it through. They should have tried seeing how _ridiculous_ this situation would’ve looked from an outside perspective, how impossible would be a sudden change from hissing at each other whenever they were in the same room, to caressing each other’s cheeks in utter adoration.

They were never one to follow the standard, really.

“You know,” said Virgil with a smirk, softly caressing his scales, [God they were so _soft_ -]  
“We should maybe talk about all of, um, _this_. Like functioning adults.”

“I think I have been a functional adult enough for today. I need a break,” he snorted, taking the others hand and leading him to the bed.

As they came in contact, “I think we can talk tomorrow” was heard, a whisper whose origins couldn’t count now that their bodies were fused in one, feelings encompassing and engulfing what little of physical they still had left.

When Janus fell on his back, with Virgil’s lips a fire on his own and the pillows freezing on his back, his world drowned in purple and he was finally, really, _truthfully_ happy.


End file.
